“I understand, Your Excellency,” Captain Anderson said.
“Keep their detention as quiet as possible,” Rex went on. “And order two horses to be brought to the side door. I will take Azim with me.”
Quenella stared at Rex in amazement.
She knew that Azim was his personal servant, a man who had been with him for many years.
Where was he going and why with Azim?
The question trembled on her lips as Captain Anderson, after a quick glance at the man lying on the floor to see that he was securely tied, turned and walked away down the corridor.
Now Rex looked at her with a smile on his lips.
She would have spoken, but he drew her out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“Where are you – going? And why do you need a horse – ” she began and he interrupted,
“I will be as quick as I can, but I may be late for dinner. I leave you to carry on until I return. No one must have any idea that I am not in the house.”
“Rex! Rex!” Quenella cried frantically.
“I told you to trust me, as I trust you,” he said. “You wished to play a part in The Great Game.”
She wanted to protest, ‘not like this’ not knowing anything and feeling that he was going again into danger and she was to be left behind.
But before she could formulate even one sentence he was gone, walking away down the corridor.
He turned into a room that was not in use, but which led, she was aware, to another staircase that would take him up to his own bedroom without being observed.
For a moment she felt that it was too much to be borne.
She could not do what he asked of her, but must run after him and beg him to take her with him or to tell her more.
To be left in doubt, in fear and anxiety that was like a knife cutting into her and was beyond human endurance.
Then she remembered that Rex trusted her and, because she could not let him down, she walked slowly and with dignity into the main hall and up the staircase to her own sitting room.
There was no one about and no sign of Rex outside the suite that was always occupied by the Lieutenant-Governor and his wife.
It consisted of a large bedroom, which she used herself, cool and white, with three windows looking out over the garden and the stunning view of the mountains beyond.
Her sitting room, which was filled with flowers, was next door and communicated with the Governor’s bedroom, which she had never seen.
Quenella sat down for a moment and then rose to stand at the window, seeing nothing of the beauty that had enthralled her ever since she had come to Naini Tal, but only Rex riding unescorted into danger.
She knew without being told that he had gone to find the man who had been instrumental in setting up the plot to kill him.
The man who she suspected was either a Russian or in their pay and to whom Rex’s dead body would be a moral as well as a physical victory.
The agony of her thoughts made her put her hands up to her face and as she suffered she thought of how she had prayed to Lord Krishna to bring her love.
She had not known then that love could be a two-edged weapon.
It was not, as she had believed, an ecstasy of the mind raised to the shining peaks, but something quite different.
Now she really understood what the Saddhu had meant when he had said,
“You must also go down into the plains.”
That was where she was now.
Distraught and torn by human suffering, by human emotions and by love that was not ecstatic but something much more fundamental.
She could feel herself shaking with the intensity of what she felt.
Then she could hear Rex’s voice, calm, quiet and yet commanding,
“Trust me, as I trust you.”
*
A Pathan travelling in a rickshaw that he had picked up on the edge of the town of Naini Tal walked in through the door of a dingy lodging house.
Beneath the dusty-layered blue turban were the eyes of a hawk and his long, unwashed white robe was worn over a pair of ankle-length pants and a dirt-caked tunic festooned with charms and armlets.
He moved with the silent grace of a panther on the stalk.
The Pathan’s cotton cummerbund held his trousers and tunic in place and was also the repository for an oversized flintlock pistol, two knives and a long carved tulwar that could mince a floating feather.
Two red roses were behind his ears and did nothing to dispel the impression that the Pathan’s sole purpose and pleasure in life was the inflicting of death, both painful and prolonged.
He walked up to the proprietor of the lodging house, a fat lazy Babu who had invested his life savings in the sleazy building and asked in an odd guttural voice,
“Which room I find foreign Sahib?”
The Babu looked up suspiciously. At the same time he was acutely aware of the knives and the tulwar.
“He expect you?” he asked.
The Pathan made an almost imperceptible gesture with his head and the Babu pointed to the rickety wooden stairs.
“Number two.”
The Pathan looked round the small dirty hall and then climbed the stairs in the swaggering manner that was so characteristic of his race.
After ten decades of association with the Pathans, the British could never quite make up their minds about them.
“Ruthless, cowardly robbers, cold-blooded and treacherous murderers” wrote one Officer from the Frontier. “Nothing can ever change these shameless cruel savages.”
But another saw the tribesmen differently,
“The Pathan is brave, sober and religious according to his lights, has a ready sense of humour and is a lover of sport.”
Whatever the Babu’s opinion of the visitor to his lodging house, he was not prepared to express it or to argue with the man who had just gone upstairs.
The Pathan entered bedroom number two without knocking.
Lying on the bed was the type of foreigner he expected, a man who was obviously better educated than his appearance suggested and whose features indicated that he did not belong to India or to Afghanistan.
His clothes were deliberately chosen to make him appear the tourist he pretended to be.
Lying on a table were a few canvasses and a paint box. It was an old excuse for wandering round the foothills of the Himalayas and the word ‘artist’ could cover a multitude of other interests.
The Pathan closed the door behind him and the man on the bed sat up.
It was all over very quickly and it was not until the following morning that the Babu, anxious as to why his guest had not demanded anything to eat, entered the bedroom to find that the foreign Sahib had suffered a ‘heart attack’ and was lying dead on his bed.
There were no marks of violence on his body nor was there any sign of the Pathan, who had certainly not left the lodging house by the staircase to the hall.
But then the first floor of the low building is not very far from the ground.
*
Quenella could never remember afterwards what she had said to the guests who had arrived and had been presented to her by Captain Anderson.
Naini Tal, she had learnt, had a reputation for luxurious living, the sweetmeats that were served before dinner were certainly delicious and their guests seemed to enjoy the wine.
She had dressed as if in a dream, letting her maid choose the gown that she should wear and the jewels that were fastened round her neck and arranged in her hair.
She could only stare blindly into the mirror, seeing not her own face but Rex’s.
His lips had touched hers, but she felt that it was only the reassuring gesture that he might have given to a child.
She wanted much more from his lips and from – him.
In the drawing room she found it almost impossible to concentrate on what was being said and yet, because the guests were laughing and apparently at ease, she knew that she was behaving automatically in the m
anner that would be expected of her.
She tried to prevent herself from looking every other second at the large ormolu clock that stood on the mantelpiece.
Was it possible that time could move so slowly?
She knew that dinner was already fifteen minutes late. Still the Khidmatgars, in white, scarlet and gold continued to fill up the glasses.
She made no move to lead the way into the dining room, where the long table with its damask cloth, its display of glittering plate and its napkins cunningly folded to resemble fans or exotic birds, was ready to receive them.
“Rex! Rex!”
Quenella felt her heart calling out to him.
What could have happened?
Why did he not come?
How could she have let him leave without knowing where he was going or what he intended to do?
She felt as if there was a heavy stone in her breast, growing larger and larger until it prevented her from breathing.
Suddenly one of the Khidmatgars flung open the door and Rex was standing there, conventionally dressed, bemedalled and smiling!
Everyone rose to their feet and the ladies curtseyed while the men bowed.
Quenella felt as if the lights had all suddenly flared like torches into the sky and that the room was lit with a brilliance that was almost blinding.
For a moment Rex’s eyes met hers and she knew that all was well
Then, when the guests had been presented to him, he offered her his arm and they led the way in to dinner.
The Khidmatgars, one for each guest, drawn up in a line, saluted as was the custom in the Government House of the North-Western Province.
Rex did not speak, but he put his hand for one moment over hers as it lay on his arm and she thrilled at his touch.
After that Quenella felt that she was being very witty and her conversation was unusually intelligent for everyone she spoke to appeared to be laughing.
After Rex’s arrival the tempo rose and she thought as the evening ended that it was in fact, although she could not remember one word that had been said, the best dinner party that they had ever given.
She and Rex went up the stairs side by side in silence and only when they reached their suite did she say swiftly for fear that he was about to say ‘goodnight’,
“I – must know – you must – tell me.”
“Will you allow me first to take off my finery?” he asked. “And I am sure you would be more comfortable without yours.”
“Yes – of course,” she agreed.
She went into her room and he went into his.
Her maid was waiting, a Bengali who had been specially chosen for her in Calcutta, having served other Governors’ wives and, as was written on her reference, ‘well up in her duties’.
She undid Quenella’s gown and put away her jewels.
“Shall I brush your hair, Your Excellency?” she enquired.
“No, not tonight,” Quenella answered.
From the wardrobe the maid brought a wrap, which was of white-lined satin trimmed with lace and small velvet bows of blue ribbon.
Quenella put it on.
“You may go now, Nalini,” she said. “I will get into bed later.”
The maid dimmed the lights except for those by the bedside and then left the room,
Quenella knelt down on the thick white fur rug in front of the fire.
The logs were piled high and the flames leapt above them.
‘In this room at least,’ she thought, ‘no one could hide in the chimney.’
However for the moment she was not afraid.
She was only waiting, while her heart was beating frantically in her breast and her lips felt dry.
Then the door opened and Rex came in.
He was wearing a long very English-looking dressing gown, which, with its frogged braid across the front, made him look as if he was still fully dressed.
He walked towards her and she sprang to her feet.
Even before he reached her she asked,
“You – are all – right? You are not – hurt?”
He smiled at the question.
“As you see, I have returned to you intact, as I intended to do.”
“And the – man? You found – him?”
“I found him!”
“What – happened?”
“Is it important?” he asked.
Her eyes met his and it was difficult to think of anything else but the expression in the grey depths of them.
He came a little nearer.
“You saved my life, Quenella, and I think I should thank you for it first.”
“It was chance – pure chance,” she said. “Supposing I had not – lost my way? Suppose I had not – overheard the gardeners talking?”
“Was it chance that threw us together?” Rex asked. “Chance that we should be married, chance that you should be exactly the type of wife for whom, although I did not realise it, I had always been seeking?”
She looked at him wide-eyed.
“Is – that true?”
“Do you think I could tell you anything that was not true without you being aware of it?”
For a moment they gazed at each other.
Then Rex said,
“There is so much we have to say to each other, but first I want to thank you not only for saving me but for the tears you had in your eyes when I left you.”
Because there was something very soft and gentle in his voice and yet with an undercurrent of a deeper emotion Quenella felt herself trembling and her eyelashes were dark against her cheeks.
“I am afraid,” Rex said unexpectedly.
“Afraid?” she questioned, surprised at the word.
“Of frightening you if I tell you what is in my heart.”
“You – need not be – afraid.”
“You are certain of that?”
She was not sure whether she took a step towards him or whether his arms drew her there. She only knew that she was close against him and she thought that he must feel the wild throbbing of her heart.
“I touched your lips in gratitude,” Rex said in a very deep voice, “but now I want to kiss you for another reason.”
“What is – that?”
It was almost impossible to speak as she raised her face to his.
She thought that he would kiss her, but instead he ran his fingers along the outline of her chin and upwards to touch her ear and then downwards to the round column of her neck.
It gave her a sensation that she had never known, tingling like flames through her body, which made her lips part so that her breath could come fitfully through them.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “But it is not only your face that excites me.”
“I – excite you?”
She had to hear the answer.
“More than I dare tell you,” he replied. “It has nearly driven me insane these past weeks not to touch you and not to hold you like this.”
“I wanted you – to.”
The words burst from her, then, because she had to be honest, she added,
“B-but I did not – realise it until today – when I thought – you would be killed and I could not – warn you in time.”
There was so much pain in the way she spoke that Rex knew how she had suffered and he pulled her closer against him.
Just for a moment he looked down into her eyes and then his lips were on hers.
As he touched them, he found that the fire was there beneath the snow, burning with a fierceness and a violence that consumed everything but their need for each other.
They were reunited, they had met after centuries of time, but, as the flames leapt higher and higher, it was impossible to think, but only to feel –
*
A long time later when the logs in the fireplace were smouldering into ashes, Quenella said,
“I thought – that I would – never be alone with you because there were always – people with us and I was envious of the other Gover
nors and their wives who were – able to be alone together in this bed.”
Rex’s lips were against her forehead as he answered,
“That at least is something that we will share in the future and I think, my precious love, that we are both entitled to more than that.’’
“What do you – mean?”
“When we were in England, we were promised a honeymoon in Lucknow. I think we are entitled to take one in Naini Tal.”
“A – honeymoon?”
The question was hardly audible and yet there was a lilt behind it.
“Is that what you would like?”
“I would adore – anything that meant I could be with you – so that I could – talk to you and so that you could – love me.”
There was a little quiver in the last words, which were echoed by the movement of her body against his.
“We have wasted too much time,” Rex declared, “and now I intend to have my wife to myself.”
“Will they – let you?” Quenella asked.
“They? Who are they?” Rex enquired. “Am I or am I not the Governor of this Province and answerable for the moment to no man but myself?”
She gave a little laugh.
“Then perhaps, Your Excellency, you will – tell me what you – intend we shall do?”
“It is very regrettable,” Rex said slowly, “but we shall both for the next two weeks be suffering from a spring fever that will prevent us from carrying out any official duties!”
Quenella snuggled a little closer to him.
“And is it a – fever that feels like little – flames flickering – inside one?”
“Exactly.”
“And does it give those who – have it a – strange constriction in the – throat, which makes it – hard to speak above a whisper?”
“It does!” Rex agreed.
“And do their – eyelids feel heavy – and their lips a little swollen?”
“An inescapable symptom! What else do I make you feel?”
“So much – much – more!”
Quenella’s voice faltered as she went on,
“I felt you lifted me up to the mountain peaks where no one – has ever been before and there were – only the Gods.”
Flowers For the God of Love Page 14